A Day in the Life
by Virtue
Summary: Oneshot: It happened this way so far back in her memory that it was more a matter of muscle memory than anything else.


**A Day in the Life**

 **A/N: Adult sensuality warning. Watch out!**

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It happened this way so far back in her memory that it was more a matter of muscle memory than anything else.

She was pregnant with Gohan by the age of 20, waking early in the morning to the shrill scream of her alarm. Her eyelids parted slowly in the dim lights of dawn that crept through the creases of their bedroom curtain. She shot up to turn it off as she was rudely pulled from the peace of her dreams, only to flop back down clumsily as Goku's arm across her chest and single leg across hers pinned her to the bed.

She'd tried shaking him awake, but it was rarely any use. Instead she'd roll to her side, sliding out from under him sideways and wincing as she cradled her large belly in tow.

When she was pregnant she'd urinate fiercely, sighing in relief on the toilet before waddling into the kitchen in her bathrobe with it's hem dangling dramatically higher in the front compared to the back.

Breakfast had to be ready, it had to be done right, and done on time. Bacon was always done last, as the smell would wake him in an instant and he'd hover over her _relentlessly._ She'd start by making several batches of pancakes instead, they'd warm in the oven just fine while the rest of the meal was prepared.

When Gohan was young he'd pad into the kitchen while she worked, wiping his eyes from their sleep. He was such a good boy, entertaining himself with a book curled up on the couch in the living room, or by turning the TV on low volume so as to not wake his father.

There were mornings when her boys ate and bolted out the door, leaving her with the spoils to wash up on her own, but there were just as many mornings that Goku insisted it was the _best_ meal he'd ever had (it was the same meal he had every morning, every time), and Gohan agreed.

She'd tried forcing them to clean up after themselves, but quite frankly she'd gone through so many broken dishes at their hands that she took it upon herself alone.

Truthfully, marriage to Goku was infuriating. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful, or that he wasn't affectionate enough, or disinterested or ego manic the way that'd she'd heard other women complain of their husbands. He was the opposite of all of those things.

He was so damn _weird._ And while in the early stages of their relationship she'd found it adorable, after a while it wasn't adorable anymore.

The first week of marriage she'd find food carcasses and remains throughout the house. She found them on the dresser by the bed, on the floor by the front door, behind the toilet in the bathroom and on the sink by the shower. It was like he moved and ate simultaneously as he moved around the place, and was genuinely confused and sympathetic as she patiently explained to him that food was to be confined to the kitchen.

She'd broken down and cried the week before Goten was born, when she was deep cleaning and found an extensive supply of his rolled up socks in between the cushions of the sofa, a throwback to the days when she pressed him to help her with his laundry, and she'd get angry at him for messing up the drawers. She was heartbroken because she actually _understood_ his rationale for putting them there: he wasn't sure which drawer was for what any more but knew that she wanted the job done so he found an easy solution to get rid of the problem without throwing the socks away and being wasteful. She was heartbroken, heartsick, and she gathered up the socks in fistfuls to place in their rightful drawer in a neat stack.

Her life was a series of clean dishes and dirty dishes, dirty laundry and clean laundry. When Goten was born she decided she wanted more, and so she trained the little boy in martial arts as best as she could after years of neglecting her talents.

The nights after Goku's death were the worst. She'd release her hair from her bun and it'd fall over her shoulders in dark curtains and she'd remember how much he loved when her hair was down. She'd stand bare in her bathroom for a while with her clothing piled at her feet, sometimes clutching a hand towel, looking at how her dark hair contrasted with her light skin, and then her gaze would turn to the lines and bags under her eyes.

She'd close her eyes and remember him walking in from behind her, complimenting her with a strange comment and wrapping his arms around her from behind. His chin would rest on her shoulder and he'd stare back at her in the mirror.

She had to admit, as much as he triggered her anger during the day, he knew how to win her over by the end of it all.

Emerging from childhood taught her how insincere the world was, how cruel and uncaring and callous adults were. She feared for her sons, worried endlessly that they end up destitute and broken by it all, despite the tight knit circle of friends that supported them.

At the end of the day she had Goku's sincerity.

He had lovemaking down pat. She breathed against him harshly, his skin was hard, salty, and slick. She often felt selfish for being able to throw her head back and grip him as hard as she could in wild abandon, while he was forced to keep every touch and every thrust in check.

"Chi-Chi," He'd murmur against her neck sometimes when they lay together in the darkness, "You're _amazing_."

She'd smile and laugh a little, because she was positive that Goku felt the same about sex as he did about food: every meal was the best he'd ever had.

When he was resurrected his eyes took a different shade: slightly older, wiser, and when they made love, darker.

He walked through their home like a new specter, and he and Goten jabbered to one another expressively. As she prepared dinner she glanced in the living area to reassure herself nothing was a dream, she saw Gohan still on the loveseat slumped down and eyes glazed at the TV while Goku and Goten cuddled on the couch with the former's bare feet dangling over the edge.

"Can I see you?" Goku asked her sweetly later that night, when he sat on the edge of their bed and she stood still in front of him. She nodded, feeling her pent up anger for his absence bubble and subside when he reached and gently pulled her bun loose as she unfastened her dress with shaking fingers.

Her tresses fell around her waist and he breathed deeply, his hand trailing to the newly exposed skin at her neck.

She gripped his hand harshly, denying him from touching any further.

"You first." Her voice was hard and commanding, and he obeyed with eyes wide.

It was the best meal she'd had. The anger still simmered inside of her and he knew of it so he tried every means necessary to please her with pleasure she didn't know how to put into words.

A month later she lay in bed again, with his arm over her chest and leg over both of hers. And when the alarm rung she struggled to shut it off as his limbs pinned her to the bed. His obliviousness was infuriating, and some days she wanted to pick him up and throw in out the window, but it was _him_. She'd never been loved so much. He never had been either.

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A/N: Currently in between fandoms and thought I'd drop this in really quick. I never thought I'd write for this fandom again but while watching some of the newer stuff I thought it was really sweet how Goku talks about Chi-Chi: _"No one knows me better than Chi-Chi"_ and _"You're always so good to me."_ Those quotes may or may not be 100% word for word but you get the idea. Thanks for reading!


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